Breathe Please
by SquishyCool
Summary: Beth shows up at the Hilltop alive and well, several months after Daryl heard her take her last breath. But can he get past what happened and accept her familiar warmth back into his life? Post-season 8 canon divergent porn with angst. Day one Bethyl Smut Week 2k18 prompt: "Breathe."


**Breathe. Please.**

Daryl had always been a little paranoid. Couldn't really help it once you'd been living like that for a while. Shit happened, and he wanted to be ready before it did. People died. He'd never get used to losing them, but he could always do more to prevent it. At least that's what he told himself. He was always thinking of what _more_ he could be doing. Part of the reason he usually couldn't sleep. He ran on very little these days. Few hours a night was all he really needed. Even back at the prison.

 _Breathe. Please._ The prison was the first time.

He didn't really know Beth, couldn't even say he really cared for her all that much. But she was still part of the group, still one of Hershel's daughters. They didn't talk all that much. Not until he'd had to bring her the news that her boyfriend, Zach, didn't make it back from a run. He didn't want to be the one to tell her. Really didn't want to be the one to see her cry, because he knew she would. But it was partially on him that Zach had died, so it was his responsibility to tell her.

When he did, she didn't cry. Didn't yell or hit him or ask him why he'd let that happen to her boyfriend. She'd done something way weirder than he could've imagined… she hugged him. Tightly. And he felt her warmth against him, smelled her hair near his face. Didn't hate it, that's for sure. But he also didn't know what to do. Was she going to start crying into his shirt? Was she expecting him to offer some comfort?

It felt like she was holding her breath. Like the sobs were about to start any minute. And then what? He'd have a wet, sobbing teenager clinging to his shirt.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he silently begged. _Don't start cryin' on me. I ain't gonna comfort ya._

And then she did. She let out her breath, and he could feel her chest shudder lightly as it escaped. She was holding the pain inside. But that was fine with him. That's where it belonged, anyway. Then she pulled away and looked up at him. Smiling weakly. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure her out. She turned around and flipped the numbers on her "Days Without An Accident" sign to zero.

A few nights later, he couldn't sleep. Like usual. The paranoia was getting to him. He kept thinking he could hear Walker growls when he knew there were none to be heard. His muscles were tensed, on edge. Anticipating footsteps outside his cell that he knew weren't coming. Instead of lying in bed and chewing his fingernails to the bone, he got up and silently strolled around, past the rows of cells. He made no noise, stopping at each cell and peeking inside, checking that every living person was accounted for and that he could see them breathing.

He'd pass by. Stop. Carefully lift the curtain or blanket or whatever they had used as a make-shift door. Peek inside. Check for the correct numbers of bodies beneath blankets, some of them wrapped up together, like Glenn and Maggie. Then he'd wait, staring with wide eyes, barely able to make out the definitive shadows. And then their chest would rise and fall, or their back, or they'd move a hand or make a grunting noise in their sleep. Some of them, like Rick, snored lightly, so Daryl barely had to stop to make sure they were still alive. To make sure they hadn't died in the night or something. He never had to listen for baby Judith because she always made little noises in her sleep.

When he got to Beth's cell, he paused and lifted the ratty blanket to peek inside. Despite the lack of decent lighting, he could still see her blonde hair lying across the pillow as she slept facing the wall. But her cell was completely silent. No snoring, no grunting. She was motionless, and he stared intently at the dark mass that he knew was her body, hidden beneath the blanket. A few seconds passed and he didn't see a movement. No rising of her chest or back, not a single nudge. His heart sped up a little.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he thought. He continued staring at her, muscles tensed, subconsciously trying to send a telepathic message. But what if she'd died in her sleep? Or, God forbid, killed herself when no one was looking?

Then she moved. More than moved, actually. She let out a sleepy grunt and rolled over on her other side, and Daryl caught a peek of her face as she turned toward him. Eyes closed, side of her cheek covered in drool. She was sleeping like a baby. _Better_ than a baby, from what he knew about babies. And she definitely wasn't dead. Just a very quiet sleeper.

When the prison fell and Daryl found himself out on the road with Beth, this girl he barely knew and barely liked, everything changed. He wasn't sure when, or how, but somewhere between sleeping side-by-side in a trunk overnight, burning down an old moonshine still in the woods, and shacking up in an abandoned funeral home, he'd grown to like Hershel's youngest daughter. _Really_ like her. He cared about her. In a way that he hadn't cared about many people in his life.

It was the damnedest thing, too. He wouldn't admit to himself that he _really_ gave a rat's ass about that stubborn little shit. Not even when he was thinking about how cute she looked when she was drunk. Or when he was letting her hold his crossbow – _use_ his crossbow. Or even when he was volunteering to give her piggyback rides across graveyards. It was when they were sleeping together in that abandoned funeral home, the night before she was taken. The night before everything changed again. He'd volunteered to take the couch while she took the bed, but of course, she _insisted_ that they share their first _real_ bed in weeks. He didn't sleep for shit because he felt too awkward and uncomfortable sharing a bed with her. Feeling her so close. Listening to her breathing.

Okay. He kind of liked it.

But then he was lying awake, unable to sleep. Just like back at the prison. And she hadn't breathed for several seconds. He could hear her inhale and exhale, but the sound had stopped. His eyes popped open and he stared over at her, watching her intently. Would this be the night? What if that twisted ankle had caused some kind of infection? What if she'd been dying and they hadn't even known it, and now she was just going to pass away in her sleep? It was taking everything in him to resist the urge to reach out and place a hand over her chest and feel for a heartbeat. The muscles in his arm twitched and tensed as he teased the idea.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he thought.

Suddenly, he could see – and hear – her take in a sharp inhale of breath. When it came out, it was a loud snore. She sounded like she was sleeping better than she had in ages. Which made sense. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, holding back a laugh as his tensed muscles relaxed again. He'd never heard someone so small snore so loudly.

That was when he'd finally admitted to himself that he gave a shit about her. Like, _really_ gave a shit about her. For some stupid reason, he knew, in that moment, that he had to do everything he could to protect her. To make sure they'd stay safe together, whether it was in that funeral home or somewhere else. Settling down with her didn't sound nearly as bad as his other options, after all.

The next night, Daryl ran until his lungs were full of fire, chasing down the car that had taken Beth. He'd failed to protect her. Failed to keep her safe. Nothing he'd done up until that point mattered anymore, because she was _gone_. It was all for nothing. A waste. He broke down in the middle of road. Cried until his throat was hoarse, until his face was completely soaked with sweat and tears. He'd gasped for breath. Struggled to fill his lungs. He felt a tightness in his chest. He thought he might be dying – before he could even get to her. Before he could find her and bring her back.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he told himself. _Can't die yet._ _You gotta find her. You gotta get her back._

He kept on breathing, of course. Kept on moving. Even though everything had seemed so hopeless. So gray. She'd been right: their family _was_ still out there. They were looking for them. Daryl found them, found safety. Found a chance at some semblance of a better future.

And then he found Beth.

It was completely by chance. He told himself it was meant to be, it had _always_ been meant to be. It was no coincidence that he and Carol had run into that Noah kid. That Carol had gotten hit by a car, taken like Beth had, that they'd had no other choice but to go to Grady and save their people. It all aligned so perfectly.

Well, maybe not perfectly. But _something_ had brought him back to her. That wasn't how he usually thought, either. But he kept thinking about what she would say after they saved her from that place. What they'd talk about while they walked far away from Grady and never looked back. She'd say it was all meant to be. She'd say the place made her stronger. And then he'd get to tell her that she was _always_ strong. And he'd get to tell her how much he really _did_ miss her. Just like she'd said he would. He'd even tell her she was right about everything. Because she was. And he knew it would make her smile to hear him admit it.

But it didn't work out like that. _None_ of it worked out perfectly. It wasn't meant to be. _Nothing_ was meant to be. Everything was just a random pattern of actions and consequences without any meaning. There was no good to be taken from the situation. Period. He'd done everything in his power – _everything_. And it hadn't been enough. He couldn't stop her from pulling out those scissors. Couldn't stop her from trying to teach Dawn one final lesson. All he could do was shoot. Kill. Avenge. Without a thought, he'd blown a hole through Dawn Lerner's forehead. But it didn't bring Beth back. It didn't make anything _right_.

He hadn't felt Carol's hand on his shoulder, couldn't remember turning toward her. He'd felt himself drop to his knees. He'd felt the tears on his face but couldn't tell where they were coming from. He heard his own sobs but they sounded distant and foreign. He'd felt her, in his arms. Against his chest. Her body was warm. But it was limp. Lifeless. He was grasping her, gripping her, but she wasn't hugging back. Wasn't moving. He silently begged. Pleaded. Bargained. With a god he didn't even believe in.

He held her so closely that he could feel her chest against his. He could feel it exhaling, the very last bits of life fleeing her body. He could hear it, despite all the chaos around him, despite his own sobs. A shuddered breath, raggedy and strained. Her _last_ breath, warm against the skin of his neck as he held her and cried into her shoulder. He waited to hear it again, anticipated her chest to fill with air once more, like it should have.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he begged silently. _Don't leave me yet. Not yet._

But she didn't breathe again. She was gone. And then so was he. Daryl moved on autopilot, carrying her lifeless body from the hospital, crying with Maggie on the ground. He could barely remember it. The whole thing felt like a dream. Like some horrible nightmare that had left him with night sweats and flashbacks. It was all a blur of colors and lights. They'd been moving. He'd carried her the whole time. Like he'd carried her back at the funeral home. But she wasn't lively and giggling now. And her _fucking_ laugh was all he could think about. It nearly drove him insane, clutching her body in his arms, feeling her skin getting cooler by the minute. But he was determined to bring her back. To give her the burial she deserved. He wanted a place where he could visit her every day.

It didn't work out that way, though. They'd been ambushed by a herd of Walkers. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, they ran. He was still on autopilot when Carol had finally managed to pry his fingers from around Beth's arm, screaming at him that they had to go _now_. They'd stuffed her into a car, hidden her there. He'd intended to come back later, retrieve her body, give her a proper burial.

He should've already figured out that things _never_ work out the way you intend them to when the dead rule the earth.

Her body was gone. By the time he found that car, and that spot, weeks later. Not a trace of her was left. Blood nor bone, not even a single fiber from her cardigan or a boot print in the dirt. At first, he'd wondered to himself if she was alive. What if she'd been breathing? What if he hadn't noticed? But he couldn't find an ounce of evidence that might've suggested he was right. He tracked outwards from the car in every direction imaginable for at least a mile, each way. Searching for blood trails or boot prints or strands of blonde hair that weren't there. And then he finally told himself to stop being so goddamn ignorant. She was _gone_. Walkers had probably gotten into the car. Or someone had found her, maybe looted the body and taken her clothes. He cringed at that thought, and grew nauseated by the unspeakable thought that popped into his head immediately after. He refused to think about it again.

She was dead. He'd heard her take her last breath. He'd watched as the last bits of everything that made Beth who she was had left her body. Forever. There was no getting her back this time. Sometimes, the world just _took_. With no rhyme or reason. And this time, it had taken her.

After that, Daryl stopped caring. About much of anything. He still cared, but not in the way he had with Beth. He was still paranoid, but he didn't bother getting up in the middle of the night and checking in on people to make sure they were still breathing. Or checking in on people at all. And he sure as hell didn't ever share a bed with anybody again. Hell, he barely slept. Even behind the walls of Alexandria or the Hilltop, even in a real bed. Watching Tyreese, Noah, Glenn, Abraham, Denise, Sasha, half his fucking group – half his _family_ – die before his eyes .Getting tortured by Negan and his goons. Watching Rick lose Carl after they'd survived so much together… It all cemented the idea in his head that nothing lasted.

There was no hope left. Nothing was meant to be. And the only "good people" left in the world were the ones that ended up as Walkers, or as Walker food. No matter what that blonde girl with the bullet in her head might've said.

Some nights, he woke up, and in that disoriented state right between conscious and awake, he would hear her. Singing. And he'd think he was back in the funeral home again. But then he'd open his eyes and look around and realize he wasn't. He'd remember that she was gone. And sometimes, he'd get so angry that he would roll over and punch his pillow. He'd fight back tears, even though there was no one around to hear him cry. The one thing that kept him from falling back to sleep would be thinking of all the words he never got to say to her. And torturing himself with how close her voice had sounded, how real she still felt to him. Remembering how his own pathetic cowardice had gotten in the way of so many possibilities.

He carried her knife on his belt. Kept it safe from being stolen by the Wolves or the Saviors, stowed it away for a long time like some sort of prized treasure. He'd kept her shoelaces and tied them around the bottoms of his pant legs, where they remained to this day, even months and months afterward. They were simple gestures. Stupid, really. But she felt too real to ignore. He had to have something that kept her with him in some sort of physical sense. Even though he didn't believe in that kind of shit.

Daryl had lost count of how many days it had been since he'd thrown away the clothes stained with her blood, let alone how many weeks or months. Ever since Rick had taken Negan down and locked him up in a cell, and the last of the Saviors had been dealt with, there had been an odd sort of calm settled over Alexandria, the Hilltop, and the Kingdom. Carol had been referring to it as "The Holy Trinity of Safe Zones" lately. Daryl chose to stay at the Hilltop, with Maggie, Jesus, Rosita, and Aaron. He wasn't exactly sure what the future held for all of them, along with Rick and Carol and Ezekiel, but he was comfortable at the Hilltop. And he felt that the war with Negan had opened his eyes to the reality of the stark differences in his and Rick's beliefs. Rick and the others had wanted Daryl to be in charge of the Sanctuary. They'd been sure he could keep the remaining Saviors in line. But he refused. He didn't want that kind of responsibility, he didn't like being a leader. Never had been cut out for it. Besides, for the time being, Maggie and the Hilltop felt like the closest thing to a home he had.

Sometimes, very late at night, he would ask himself if he actually liked being near Maggie because she was his last tangible link to Beth. But he could never decide on an answer. It didn't matter, anyway. Beth wasn't coming back. He had to remind himself over and over and over. And there were nights when he found the words tumbling out of his mouth, quiet and woeful. "She's gone. She ain't comin' back." As if hearing himself say it aloud would remind him that it was real. And something would clench his chest from the inside and he'd lose his breath.

He would have to remind himself, _Breathe. Please. She's gone, but you're not._

* * *

The morning Beth arrived at the Hilltop was surreal, to say the least. Daryl hadn't been doing anything in particular. He was working on his bike, repairing it from the little bit of damage it had recently taken on a run. The air was cold enough that he could see his breath in front of him, and the sky was grey and cloudy. He thought it might snow. But he still worked outside in jeans and a sleeveless shirt, his vest on over it. The shoelaces around his pant legs, and the knife sitting in its sheath on his belt. He still sharpened it regularly. Never really needed to use it, but he kept it on him almost all the time. Once in a while, he'd bring it out for an easy Walker kill. Especially if the Walker was a blonde girl.

He hadn't even dreamt about her that morning. He'd been feeling oddly optimistic for the last few days, and he'd attributed it to the good meals he'd been eating. But when he looked up from his bike and saw _her_ walking through the gates, saw her blonde hair and her bright smile and her hot pink, blood-stained windbreaker, he stopped. Froze in place. His breath caught in his throat. Was he hallucinating? Was he asleep? This _had_ to be a dream.

He'd lost the ability to think, to breathe, to speak or move. He couldn't even blink. His whole body went numb, and as he watched Maggie sprint across the grass and wrap her arms around the small, blonde girl, nearly toppling them both over to the ground, he realized he'd forgotten to let his breath out.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he told himself. And slowly, the breath escaped his mouth and he took another deep inhale. Blinked rapidly. Rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheek a few times, assuring he wasn't asleep.

They were still there. Two sisters, one of them having been presumed _dead_ for nearly a year, reuniting at last. Tears of joy. Lots of them. Happy yells, more crying, endless hugging. Daryl thought Maggie might suffocate the poor girl with how tight she was holding her.

But _fuck_ , he really wanted to do the same thing. He wanted to drop everything in his hands and sprint over there, run to her as fast as he could. Wrap his arms around her and never _fucking_ let her go again. He wanted to give her a good tongue lashing for that stupid-ass stunt she pulled back at Grady, and ask her what the _hell_ she was thinking. He wanted to smell her hair and feel her warm skin, feel her breathing against him – he wanted to make sure she was real. And _alive_. That it wasn't just somebody wearing Beth's skin and face.

He knew that wasn't really possible. But Jesus _Christ_ , what else was he supposed to think when he was seeing a _dead girl_ standing there?

He had gotten to his feet without realizing it. The tools in his hand had dropped to lay in the grass at his boots, and he was staring with wide eyes, watching Beth's every movement. She was being swarmed, having shown up with Rick, Michonne, Carol, Ezekiel, Jerry, and little Judith. It looked like a goddamn family reunion.

A family reunion that Daryl _really_ wanted to be a part of.

He stepped a few feet forward but stopped, continuing to watch as Maggie wept and hugged her baby sister. Beth was crying now, too. Nodding and crying and hugging people. He could only guess that she'd been told about Glenn and everyone else. That she knew they were the last ones remaining from their group that had originated back on her daddy's farm. That was good, though – at least he could see that she still had her memory despite a bullet to the brain.

But the whole thing looked like a damned emotional trainwreck, and he didn't really wanna be wrapped up in that whole sobby mess. But he urged his feet forward nonetheless. He moved a few steps and then he stopped again, finding that he had to concentrate on his breathing more than usual. His heart was racing, his mouth was dry, there was cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. He couldn't approach her. What if she faded away? What if he woke up? What if, when he got closer, she turned out to be a mirage? He wondered if he was finally losing his fucking mind.

Then Beth was looking at him. Her eyes had locked onto him. She'd spotted him from across the grass and turned her body away from her sister and toward him. The grin on her face grew impossibly wider, but Daryl was still frozen in place. His muscles wouldn't cooperate. At this point, he wanted to turn tail and run. There weren't many times in his life that he'd felt truly scared, but now was one of them. He was _terrified_. Terrified that she wouldn't be real, that she would up and evaporate into thin air as soon as she got close to him. That a Walker would appear from nowhere and rip her throat out right in front of his eyes. That someone would fire a round through the back of her head before she could even wrap her arms around him. It was too much. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't have this _not_ be real.

Yet… there she was. One second, he was watching her run towards him, blonde hair flying behind her in the wind – he noticed it was shorter, and wavier, and when had she cut it? – and that adorable and _stupid_ grin plastered to her face, arms open. And the next second, the wind was being knocked out of his chest as her small frame barreled into him. Thin, strong arms wrapped around him and squeezed tightly. And she was there. She was _real_. He took in a deep breath and he smelled her. Well, smelled Walker guts and dried blood and wet soil, but she still smelled familiar beneath all that. The scent that was so unmistakably _her_. Sweet and strong at the same time, bringing a barrage of memories to life in his mind. He felt her take in a deep breath and hold it, her chest stiff against his.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he silently begged. _Tell me this ain't a dream. Tell me you're really here._

Then her chest relaxed, retracted as she let out the stuttered breath she'd been holding, and Daryl reflexively exhaled with her. It sounded like a sob. His or hers, he wasn't sure. Then her tears were soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt within seconds. It didn't annoy him like it usually would. Not at all. In fact, he wouldn't have even gave a shit if she wanted to use his shirt as her own personal snot rag. He was just relieved to see her there, feel her there. To know she was really alive. He stood, still frozen, for a long moment as her arms tightened their squeeze around his torso. His muscles still weren't cooperating, but he managed to awkwardly reach his arms up and give her a light and hesitant hug. He was still scared, if he were being honest. He touched her like she was made of glass, about to shatter at any second.

But then it felt… _right_. The memories came back and they weren't painful, for the first time ever. The farm. The prison. The road. The funeral home. Fucking _Grady_. It was all there. _She_ was all there. It was her. It was Beth. And he was Daryl. And he'd been thinking about her every single day since he'd laid her lifeless body inside an abandoned car and walked away. And why the _fuck_ couldn't he tell her that, or hug her tighter, or hold her closer? He simply couldn't.

That didn't stop _her_ , though. When she finally pulled her head back and looked up at him, he saw that her face was soaked with tears, streaking through the layers of dirt and dried blood on her cheeks. Where the hell had she been before she got here? But he didn't care, because she was _here_. Staring up at him. Her eyes looked just as he'd remembered. Just like they looked in his dreams. And she was smiling. So happy, so full of life. He could see her scars beneath the dirt and blood – the jagged line on her cheek, the nearly identical line on her forehead. And the bullet wound. The puckered red spot at the top of her forehead, right at the edge of her hairline. How the fuck was she here right now? How was she _breathing_?

He didn't even want to ask. He just wanted to hold her. Wanted to hear her breathing, feel her body heat, wrap her in a cocoon of safety and never let her go. His mouth opened and closed as he attempted to form words but repeatedly failed. His voice wouldn't cooperate, just like his muscles. His arms hung loosely around her petite frame, the fabric of the pink windbreaker rustling against his shirt and vest.

Beth's voice hit his ears and it felt like a dream all over again. Her voice was raspy and hoarse, choked up with tears, "Daryl… I _missed_ you."

That wasn't what he'd expected her to say. But then again, what would you expect someone who you thought was dead to say? Nothing, really. He realized he probably still looked completely bewildered, but the feeling was starting to come back to his face and limbs. And a small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, tears pooling in his eyes.

For the first time in his life, they were purely happy tears. Something he never thought he'd experience.

He struggled for a very long few seconds, and when he finally found his voice, the only thing he could think to choke out was, "I – you were _dead_. How…?"

And for fuck's sake, she _laughed_. Her blue eyes lit up and she _laughed_ , and then she hugged him tighter and buried her face into his shoulder and God help him if he didn't put his arm around her and bring her in just a little closer. And then he gave in and tightened his grasp around her, pulled her into him. He squeezed her tightly and buried his face in her hair, tears still leaking from his eyes. He couldn't remember anything in his _life_ that felt that good. Not a single fucking thing. He didn't even care that Maggie and everyone else were watching them nearby, and he _definitely_ didn't care what they thought. For just a few wonderful moments, everything else disappeared around the two of them. Beth was back. She was _alive_. What else could've possibly mattered?

Turned out, _a lot_ else mattered. Mainly Daryl's ego and his inability to get over himself. His inability to put what he really thought into words, or to express himself in general. Having Beth back was the only thing he felt was worthy of being described as "miraculous." And he wanted nothing more than to be around her at all times, to keep an eye on her, protect her. He wanted to make sure there was no chance of losing her again. But that wasn't quite possible.

For the first few days after she arrived, Carol and Rick and the others stayed at the Hilltop to celebrate. They all repeatedly made toasts to the Commonwealth and to Washington, D.C. for bringing Beth back to them. Daryl hung around and joined in when he could, but he spent most of his time hanging back, staying out of toasts and conversations. Sticking to the background, like he usually did. Beth was the star of the show. Everyone wanted to hug and talk to the girl who'd come back from the dead. Maggie was bursting into tears every ten minutes or so, mostly out of happiness. Beth seemed to be constantly alternating between having either Judith or baby Hershel in her lap, in her arms, on her hip. Daryl didn't want to intrude.

Besides, he wasn't much more than the guy she'd travelled with for a while. Maybe the guy who'd shown her how to use a crossbow, or helped her get her first drink. But nothing else. That was okay with him. He was fine with staying back and watching over her from the shadows. She had a lot of catching up to do, after all. What with a new nephew and a whole new community of people that she'd just met and all. He was content with watching her live. Knowing she was _living_.

But Daryl was nervous, too. He'd never admit it to any living person or say it out loud, but anytime Beth was within sight, it set his nerves on edge and made his pulse race. He had an insatiable need to protect her, but he knew she didn't _need_ him. She'd come back from the dead and found them all on her own. What could he do for her that she couldn't do for herself? But he couldn't help himself. He needed to see her. To be near her. To know she was okay. To know she was still real, and that he wouldn't wake up from some horrific dream at any moment. Because, if he was being honest, he still wasn't entirely convinced that she wasn't a hallucination. On the fourth night after her return, lying awake in bed, he'd reached the point of entertaining the possibility that the Hilltop's water source had somehow been laced with drugs and they were all having a group hallucination together. And that wasn't even the most insane theory to cross his mind.

Once Rick, Carol, Ezekiel, and the rest of the visitors had left, it was just Beth in her new home. Daryl continued watching from afar. He continued fighting a deep, nearly irresistible urge to reach out to Beth. To corner her and tell her all that shit he'd wanted to tell her. But when he was looking into her eyes, at her face – pink with blood, full of life, scars becoming nothing more than another feature – he couldn't find the words. They were just fucking _gone_. His mind went blank, his fingers went numb, his arms got all tingly. He'd never experienced anything like it before.

She came up and talked to him often. He wasn't so much lurking in the shadows as he was lurking in the background. Like a wallflower. Which he'd always been, anyway. But she never failed to _see_ him, to spot him. Never failed to look right at him when they were within view of each other, to acknowledge his presence and give him a small smile. He would hang back, mind his own business. And she'd always make time to approach him. She'd go out of her way to walk up to him, talk to him, ask him questions. Make physical contact. He never knew what to say. Probably came off like a dick, he knew. But he couldn't help it. She didn't seem to care, though. And if she thought he was a dick, she didn't say so.

After four different attempts, he managed to tell her that he'd missed her. It was mumbled, barely audible, and he looked away as soon as he'd said it. But when he looked back, he found her grinning. And her blue eyes were watery with tears – _happy_ tears. And she immediately wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, returning the sentiment even though she'd already told him a few times since returning. Despite the deep blush running up his neck and face, he hugged her back. But that had been the most progress he'd made since the long embrace they'd shared when she returned. If he so much as thought about trying to tell her more, all the words and all his courage would instantly disappear. It didn't matter how often Beth tried to get more out of him. How often she tried to make conversation and get him to open up with her big, beaming smile. Or her warm, welcoming, _persistent_ hugs.

She hugged him a couple of other times after that. He didn't hate it. But it felt… _weird_. Things were different now. Now that she'd been dead. And then not dead. He couldn't explain it, but they just were. He felt awkward. But Beth pushed past that feeling and forced him to feel something more. No matter how uncomfortable he was as he tried to talk to her, she insisted on maintaining that familiarity between them. It was almost like she was trying to get them back to the level of comfort they'd had together before she was taken to Grady – that inexplicable bond they'd formed. That feeling that he couldn't put into words or make sense of. No matter how hard he tried. The one that left him with a dry mouth and a pounding heart. And if she was trying to do that, then she was making a pretty damned good attempt. Although Daryl still wasn't sure that it would ever work.

He was still fighting his nerves every time she came within sight of him. Lying awake, listening for sounds in the large house. Wandering outside for cigarette after cigarette in the moonlight. Sneaking back in just for an excuse to pass Maggie's bedroom door – and only because he knew Beth was behind it. A few times, he stopped. Put his ear to the door. Listened closely. Sometimes, Maggie snored. Once or twice, he could hear baby Hershel babbling in his sleep. But he couldn't discern the sounds of Beth's breathing from anyone else's. And he was way too chicken to turn the knob or dare to push the door open in the slightest. Even just to check in. He reminded himself that their days at the prison were long past. His and Beth's days on the road were just as long past. In all her attempts to converse with him, she had yet to bring up those days _before_. Which assured him that it was over – she was past it, and things were different now. And despite these inescapable urges and thoughts, Daryl still wouldn't admit to himself that any of Beth's attempts to get close to him again would work. They weren't the same people they'd been back then. He could _feel_ it.

He told himself she didn't need him anymore. Never did, really. But especially not now. He was happy enough knowing she was alive, safe, reunited with her family. She didn't need to slip in and get under his skin all over again. He told himself that, eventually, he'd be able to let go of all the guilt of leaving her behind and accept that she was alive. And _then_ he'd be able to get at least a couple hours' sleep.

Then, after a couple of weeks, her attempts worked. There were only so many times he could be reminded of when they were together before. Before the headshot. Before her resurrection. When she'd pushed and pushed against his big, thick walls. It brought him a whole new happiness to realize that she hadn't changed at all since dying. She was still the same strong, stubborn, determined, unstoppable Beth that had dragged him halfway across the Georgia backwoods for a damn drink. The same resilient Beth that swore to never say goodbye when everyone around her was dying. The same persistent Beth that had hugged him from behind when he told her it was _his_ fault her dad had been killed, and cried with him. The same hopeful Beth that had wanted to settle down and adopt a one-eyed apocalypse dog. The same selfless Beth that had risked her own life to save Noah's and Carol's. And his. The same unwavering Beth that had held his hand. That had promised not to leave him.

* * *

If it had been anyone else asking to sleep over, he would've said no. Shit, realistically, he would've thought the suggestion was the weirdest goddamn thing he'd ever heard in his life. And he would've given whoever suggested it the stink eye. Or just flat-out ignored them. If it were anyone else. But it was Beth. And because it was Beth – _that same_ _Beth_ – did he say yes. Or rather, shrug and grunt and light another cigarette. He couldn't say no, though. There was no willpower in him to do so. Even if he was stupid enough to turn her down, she would want a reason for his no. And he wouldn't have one.

Because he wanted nothing more than to be near her at all times, even if that meant that his nerves were shot and he'd nearly smoked up his whole stash of cigarettes in less than three weeks. It was fucking worth it. Just to stare at her from afar, see her smile, watch her laugh and talk and _breathe_. Shit, how many times had he offered that god he didn't believe in to take every last thing he had just for a _second_ of this? And now he had a foreseeable future full of it. What kind of dipshit would actually have the balls to tell her, "no, I don't want people to get the wrong idea" or "no, I hate sharing a room"? Not him, that was for sure. He didn't give a damn what anybody thought anymore. And Beth had _always_ been the exception, anyway. That wasn't going to change just because she'd been gone for a while.

Daryl had no damn idea why this incredible, resilient, literal walking _miracle_ of a woman would want to spend a second in his messy room, or on his stained and sunken mattress. Let alone around his quiet, awkward, overly-sweaty ass. But he wasn't going to question it. Wasn't even going to question the look Maggie gave him as Beth headed toward his bedroom after dinner, pillow and blanket tucked under her arms and a big smile on her face. He knew it would be a fresh hell to deal with once he found himself lying awake near Beth, unable to sleep because… Well. Because her presence made his heart thump like a goddamn jackrabbit. And because there was no way in _hell_ he'd be able to fall asleep knowing she was _right there_. And then there'd be the other fresh hell that came in the morning, when Maggie would inevitably corner him and ask him what the hell he and her baby sister got up to during their "sleepover." But he figured he'd deal with that when it came. No point in worrying about it. Maggie might be a little pissed, but she'd get over it. Eventually. Beth was an adult, after all. She didn't need somebody trying to mother her.

For the first hour that Beth was in his room, she flittered around to every corner, tidying as she went. Asking him how he lived like that. He grunted. Told her he was only in there to sleep. He'd never liked being indoors much. Grew to kind of fucking despise it after spending way too much time in that tiny ass cell at the Sanctuary. Didn't tell her that part. She didn't ask either. Didn't seem to think it was weird that he preferred being outdoors. Or that he didn't use the dresser in his room, and picked all his outfits from the half-washed piles on the floor. He kept waiting for that disgusted look on her face that he knew was bound to show up any moment. That look she'd get once she realized what she was _really_ doing. What she'd gotten herself into.

They might've lived together for a little while. But that was a long time ago. In a way different setting. And maybe that was one of the reasons he'd stayed in the background since her return, too. Because he was afraid she'd forgotten what it was like when they were together – it was so long ago. Or because he was afraid she'd remember. _Really_ remember. _Everything_. And finally being reunited with Maggie, being in a place that felt like home, around all the family she'd been separated from… it'd probably remind her of who she really was. And _that_ Beth wouldn't want anything to do with dirty old redneck, Daryl Dixon. Would she? She'd see how he really lived when they were safe. When they were settled down. And she'd realize that he was a lost cause. No good for her. Because he'd never been good for her. Not good _enough_ , anyway. Never would be. He'd accepted that fact a long time ago.

When she was done with his bedroom, he nearly didn't recognize it. Then she plopped down on the bed, and she still looked so excited. And happy. It baffled the shit out of him, honestly. How she could still be so happy. So optimistic. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to the scar next to her hairline. Looking at it made him sad, but her eyes were so bright and lively that he wanted to slap himself for feeling that way. There was nothing to be upset about anymore because she was back. And she was fine. And most importantly, she was _happy_.

He sat and watched her, listened to her talk. For what felt like seconds. He talked a little, too. But mostly listened. He didn't have much to say anyhow. She was the one with all the stories. He'd already heard most of them half a dozen times, from sitting around while she recounted her journey to the others. But they got better with each retelling. He noticed the differing details she would add or omit. Not only that, but it reminded him of just how _alive_ she really was. She'd survived. She'd made it. She'd found other good people out in the world. Once again, she'd proven him wrong. Proven them _all_ wrong. And she had the scars, and the stories, to show for it. Even a few souvenirs. A new knife that she kept nearby at all times. He definitely noticed that.

Daryl admitted to himself that he'd need a lot more courage than he had on this night to tell her all those things he'd never gotten to tell her. This night felt more like _her_ night. He was happier sitting and listening. Watching her expressions change. Asking her questions here and there about the people or the places she would mention. Not that he cared about any of those nobodies. But he wanted to discreetly make sure that there wasn't anyone out there who had hurt her. Maybe someone who needed to be taught a lesson, or taken care of. From the sounds of it, though, she'd tied up all her own loose ends. That didn't make him feel any less guilty for not having been there when she needed him most. Not that she needed him anymore. But he'd still failed her.

She didn't talk about how she woke up. Not with him. He was thankful for that. He'd heard her recount it to the others. A few times. And it sent a pain through his gut every time, so intense that he physically cringed and got nauseous. Knowing she'd been alone. Knowing he had left her there. Abandoned her. Given up on her when she was still alive. Of course, she wasn't bitter or resentful in the slightest. He'd have been surprised if she was. But she was just like that. Daryl felt guilty because he _was_ guilty. Even if Beth didn't blame _anyone_ for where she'd ended up. He knew what he did. And that was more than enough.

She talked so much that she wore herself out. He was almost glad because he was starting to get tired of all her questions. Like he had anything to talk about, or tell her about. She referred to it as "catching up." He thought of it more as an interrogation. Then again, he'd never been fond of long conversations. Or "catching up." He just liked hearing her voice. Watching her mouth move. Seeing the way her eyes lit up and her eyebrows arched. He especially liked watching the way her nostrils would flare when she got defensive or excited. How he could see her taking a deep breath. In. Out. In again.

 _Beth. Breathing._ What a sight to fucking behold.

He wanted to ask her to sing something, but she looked tired. And he'd already heard her sing to the others a handful of times since she'd been back. It just gave him such a light feeling inside, he couldn't resist wanting to hear more. He was starting to debate with himself, tempted to give in and ask her. Maybe if she sang, she would stop asking him questions that he didn't have good answers for. She was lying back on the bed now – _his_ bed. Her boots sat by the closed door. Her blonde hair was splayed out beneath her head, all over the pillow he normally slept with. Her skin was milky in the candlelight glow. He sat on the edge of the bed, nearly falling off the edge as he tried to keep as much distance as possible between them without sitting on the floor. He already tried sitting on the floor and she wouldn't let him. The room wasn't hot by any means, but his neck began perspiring when she'd begun making herself at home. Getting comfortable in the bed he sometimes slept in.

Daryl kept catching himself stealing glances at the little bit of exposed midriff where Beth's shirt rode up when she had laid back. He felt guilty each time, but couldn't stop peeking. She didn't seem to notice until she'd said something and he missed it because he was spacing out and trying to _ignore_ that little sample of skin. And the way her lips moved when she talked. And the curves beneath her jeans that he felt like he hadn't really _seen_ before. Fuck, he felt bad for thinking that way. But it was so hard not to.

"Huh?" He asked, brow furrowed as he met her eyes. They were bright and blue, dancing and glinting in the candlelight.

She smiled and laughed. That breath-stealing, head-lifting laugh that vibrated through his bones and made him feel high for a second. "I _said_ , you kept my knife?"

She was still smiling, lifting a hand and pointing to the dresser behind him. He turned his head and looked to where she pointed, spotting the knife atop his dresser. It was sheathed, clean, kept safe. Like usual. He'd left it in here since she returned. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like it would be weird if she saw him carrying it on his belt. Now that she was back and all. He didn't know why she hadn't said anything earlier, when she was tidying up. Maybe she'd been waiting to bring it up. Or maybe she hadn't been sure it was _her_ knife.

He shrugged and looked back over to her. "Yeah. Perfectly good knife. Why wouldn't I?"

Beth smirked, imitating his shrug. "I dunno. Glad _somebody_ got some use out of it. I always wondered what happened to it."

That sharp pain in Daryl's chest reappeared and he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. How could he ever make up for leaving her behind like that? He nodded. "You can – have it back. If ya want."

She smiled again, staring back into his eyes and making him feel awkward again. "That's okay, I got a new one."

He nodded. "Saw that. Looks nice." _Looks nice_? He didn't know what else to say, but he knew that he sounded like an idiot right now. And that was exactly why he tried _not_ to talk.

Her smile faded. She shrugged again, eyes drifting back to gaze at the knife. "'S alright. Tried ta find a bow a my own but I guess they're a lot harder ta come by than I thought." She laughed lightly and Daryl's jaw unclenched. He hadn't even realized he'd been clenching it as he watched her. She'd looked sad for a second. And it set him on edge.

He smirked and grunted, looking away from her eyes to stare down at his hands. He picked at his nails. Nervously. Tried not to be obvious about it. But making direct eye contact with her for too long made him feel _really_ awkward. And kind of guilty. Especially when she was talking about something from before. When they had been together. Sending flashes of memories through his head – hunting in the woods. Watching her twist her ankle. And the last time he'd seen her with his crossbow in her hands: when she'd thrown it to him at the funeral home.

Beth must've taken the hint. Or just been tired enough to give up for the night. Because she didn't say anything else for a few moments, and then Daryl heard her moving, felt the bed shift, and looked over to see what she was doing. She was sitting up, stretching her arms above her head and letting out an overdramatic yawn. He felt the corner of his mouth tug upward into a small smirk. Then she stood up from the bed and slipped off her socks before unbuttoning her jeans. Wait – why was she unbuttoning her jeans?

"Wh – what're you doin'?" He asked, staring quizzically at her, bracing himself to jump up and flee the room.

She laughed and gave him a look like he must've been joking. She shook her head, continuing to unbutton her jeans and pull them down her hips. "I'm gonna go ta sleep, an' I'm not sleepin' in _pants_. Not when I'm in a _real_ bed, in a _real_ house."

His heart began to race. "What – leave yer damn pants on, girl, this ain't _yer_ bed." He hadn't really meant to say it, but it burst out of him in a panic.

She didn't seem fazed, though. She just scoffed and ignored him, shimmying out of her jeans and kicking them aside to rest with her socks on the floor. He tried his hardest not to look, and he averted his eyes as soon as the jeans had slipped down her thighs. But he couldn't help noticing the faded pink panties underneath. Then she was pulling back the blanket on his bed. Slipping underneath to lay on _his_ sheets. Under _his_ blanket. With _no_ pants on. He wanted to stand up, leave the room. But he was frozen.

"You prob'ly don't _ever_ pull this blanket back, do you?" She guessed. "What's it matter if I sleep pantsless on yer sheets? 'S not like I'm not naked. Won't hurt _you_ none."

Of course she was right. And he found himself smirking, for some reason. There she was again, pushing back against him. Reminding him who she was, getting what she wanted. But not in a manipulative way that made him feel like he'd been tricked, or forced into something he didn't agree with. More like, reminding him where they were. Who they were. What had happened and what was going on. Reminding him of what used to be the norm between them so long ago. The hell did he care whether she wanted to sleep in his bed with or without pants? He was just going to end up sleeping on the floor anyhow. No matter how much she might argue. There was no way in hell he'd be able to get any sleep on that bed, next to her. Knowing she was half-naked under that blanket. Shit. His pillow was going to smell like her hair for days. And she could've reminded him that she'd been sleeping in worse conditions for longer than he had – all thanks to him. But she didn't. And he'd definitely noticed that. But knowing her, it was probably a thought that didn't even cross her mind. Which only made him feel worse. She didn't hold resentment, or look for blame like that. Not like he did.

Beth made cute little sounds of contentment as she snuggled in beneath the blanket. Wait, cute? No. Just little sounds. He couldn't go letting himself think like that right now. Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still perched on the edge of the bed. She looked awfully comfortable, though, and there was a part of him that wanted to climb in there. Right beside her. Then he realized she was staring at him. He cleared his throat and looked away, back down at his hands.

"You gonna lay down?" She asked softly. She yawned again.

He hadn't realized how late it really was. But the sky was getting darker outside, and the candles had burnt down quite a bit. There was a small, dusty clock sitting on one of the bedside tables that said it was nearly half past ten. Even though sitting and talking with Beth had felt like only minutes. A few hours had passed like nothing. But now he was starting to feel it, too. His muscles ached, his eyelids were heavy. His nerves were shot from being in such close quarters with her for so long. He could use some rest. Or a cigarette. But he didn't like smoking inside, especially with two babies down the hall. And he wasn't going to step out for a smoke when she was about to fall asleep in his bed.

He cleared his throat and stood up. "Yeah. Gonna sleep down here." He sat down at the foot of the bed, leaning his back against the edge.

Beth scoffed and he heard the bed creak lightly as she shifted her weight, but he didn't turn around to look at her. "Don't be silly, it's _yer_ bed. Get up here. I don't _bite_."

Daryl knew there was no use arguing with her. He sighed softly and got up to his feet, walking around to the side of the bed she wasn't occupying and tentatively lying down. He ended up lying near the edge, half his body nearly hanging off the bed as he left a wide space between them. He left the blankets beneath him and rested his head on half the pillow, folding his hands over his stomach and staring up at the ceiling.

"Ya go to sleep now?" He grunted, turning his head and glancing over at her.

She rolled over to face him, a coy smile on her face. The blanket was covering her body from the shoulders down – _thank God_ – so he could only see her head and neck and part of her bare chest under the tank top she was wearing.

She nodded. "Yeah. But you don't gotta sleep on the edge. 'S not like we're _strangers_ or somethin'."

Something about the casualty of her tone and the memories that her simple statement brought to the surface of his mind caught him off-guard and he felt a light ache in his chest. He swallowed and scooted his body over half an inch, avoiding turning his head or looking at her. But he felt her eyes on him.

He heard her scoff again and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Okay then. _Be_ that way," she muttered, but he could hear the light playfulness to her tone.

The bed creaked again as she shifted around beneath the blanket and got comfortable, rolling over and lying on her back. Daryl closed his eyes, then opened them just enough to watch her from the corner of his eye as she snuggled in. Her petite body sunk into the mattress, filling a spot that almost looked like it'd been waiting for her. He knew he'd never be able to sleep on that damn pillow again. It'd smell like her. And he'd wanna keep it that way.

Beth let out a deep sigh of contentment as her body finally stilled and settled. Once he saw the slight smile playing across her lips, he let his eyelids fall the rest of the way shut. Even though he was nowhere close to being able to fall asleep. His nerves were running wild as he lay so close to her. Even with the distance between them and the blanket, he could feel the warmth of her body. It made his heart beat a little faster. His fingers were itching to hold a cigarette between them.

The silence spread out around them. Most nights, it made Daryl too uneasy to sleep. Especially in this room, in this bed, all alone. Bad things always emerged from total silence. But this wasn't most nights. For the first time since he'd been staying at the Hilltop, he was grateful for the silence. For the calm and safety. Even though his paranoia was ever present. It quieted just a bit during times like this. Like when they were at the prison. Or at the funeral home. It meant he didn't have to worry about any impending threat. It meant there wasn't anyone or anything trying to rip Beth away from him. For now.

He'd promised himself a long time ago, in a somewhat delusional state of mind, that if Beth were to ever somehow come back to him, he would _never_ let her out of his sight again. And he sure as hell would never let anything ever happen to her again. He made a silent promise to God, or the universe, or whatever the fuck was out there, that he wouldn't squander a second chance for so much as a moment, and that if Beth Greene somehow ended up alive and back where she belonged, then Daryl would do absolutely _everything_ in his power to ensure that her only death would be from natural causes. As a withered, worn, wrinkled, old woman.

And now here he was. With that second chance lying beside him, on his pillow, under his blanket. And he could hear her softly breathing no more than a foot away. He tried to match his breathing with hers, tried to synchronize his inhales and exhales with his heartbeat. If nothing else, just for something to focus on. Because the thought of her lying so close – and so _pantsless_ – was making his blood pressure skyrocket.

A few long minutes passed. Daryl opened his eyes and silently turned his head to gaze over at Beth's motionless form from beneath heavy eyelids. He couldn't resist. He glanced at her face, her milky skin in the glow of the dozens of torches that leaked in through the window, her golden hair splayed out around her head. Long eyelashes rested on her cheeks and he wondered if she always had a faint smile on her face when she was sleeping. If so, how had he not noticed before? Out on the road? At the funeral home? How many nights had he sat up and kept watch while she slept? And he'd checked on her more times than he could count. Just like those paranoid nights, wandering the prison corridors. Or the nights in the funeral home, where she slept so soundly. Briefly, he wondered if it was the shelter and safety that made her sleep so well – or if it was his presence.

He was still gazing at her. He didn't intend for it to be creepy, but when she opened her eyes and met his, he jolted and quickly turned his head away. He suddenly felt like a huge creep.

"You always watch people sleep?" She mumbled, and he could hear the sleepy smile in her voice.

He grunted. " _Hunh-uh_." But then he paused and turned his head to look at her again. She was smirking coyly, half-lidded blue eyes gazing over at him. The words escaped his mouth before he could convince himself not to ask. "Why'd you wanna sleep over, anyhow?"

He pursed his lips as soon as it came out, but couldn't seem to look away from Beth as her brow lightly creased and her little smirk faded. "Did you… not want me to?"

Daryl felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. _Fuck, you idiot, why can't you keep yer mouth shut,_ he scolded himself.

"Nah – 's not what I mean," he quickly muttered, staring a little more intently into her eyes. "Wouldn't be here if I didn't want ya to."

Shit, did he really just say that? Well, it was the truth. Might as well tell her now, while he had the guts.

Relief shown on her face and her lips formed a small smile. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, blinking and opening them wider. He recognized the thoughtful look on her face while she studied his face. Well shit. Now he'd gotten her started. He should've just kept his damn mouth shut.

"Then why _wouldn't_ I wanna sleep over?" She said softly. "'S kinda like old times, right? Like at the funeral home. You remember that?"

A sharp pain shot straight through Daryl's chest and he nearly winced. Her words seared his skin like a hot iron. _Of course_ he fucking remembered. It was one of the only things he thought about on a daily basis. One of the things he replayed over and over and over in his head, wracked his memory for every last detail he could recall – from the changing colors of the leaves and the stains on Beth's new cardigan, to the chipped baseboard in the kitchen of the funeral home that he stared at while he was sitting beside her at the table. That small handful of memories was like a well that he would regularly drink from, even though it never satiated his deep thirst. Those weeks on the road. Those nights in the funeral home. Those last few hours together. They were Daryl's tiny oasis of hope, his one good, real, palpable thing that he could envision and assure himself that: _yes_ , it was real, it fucking happened and you were part of it and _fuck_ , man, when was the last time you ever felt so goddamn _alive_?

He swallowed hard, fought back the slight urge to let tears pool in his eyes. Instead, he just nodded lightly, and her small smile grew a little wider. The pain in his chest lessened. He mumbled, "'Course I remember. How could I ever forget."

He felt like a fool for a second, but then her face was glowing and he could see a new kind of relief in her eyes and god _dammit_ , if that wasn't the best feeling he'd ever experienced in his entire life. To see the light in her eyes and know that he had something to do with it. Anything. It made something in his stomach twist and turn – but not painfully, for a change. Rather an old, familiar feeling that hadn't emerged in quite a long time. Not since before he lost her. It was a feeling that made him wanna do crazy things. Made him wanna go to the ends of the earth just to hear her laugh. Or pull down the moon itself just to see her smile. It was the kind of feeling that made a man run for hours on end after a car that he would never catch up to. It was the kind of feeling that made a man agree to a sleepover with a living ghost from the past.

The kind of feeling that made him want to speak the words he knew she wanted to hear. Just to see if she would smile a little longer. Even if he normally wouldn't voice these kinds of sentiments, let alone acknowledge them.

"Guess yer right," he rumbled. "'S kinda… _nice_. Like back then." He paused and licked his lips, eyes drifting away from hers. His mouth felt drier than normal. She was still watching him expectantly, like she could see that he had something else he wanted to say. Then he added quietly, "'S nicer now, though."

His gaze flicked back over to hers briefly to see the look of recognition on her face, followed by agreement. She knew that he meant _now_ – because they were with their family again, and in a _real_ home, not just some abandoned house on the side of the road. A warmth flowed through his chest as he watched something flicker in her sleepy eyes, and he realized they'd never lost that connection they'd formed back then. The ability they had to communicate without words, through silent expressions and gestures, shared memories and knowledge. Even several months apart, and even more miles, couldn't break down the inexplicable bond they'd formed after the prison fell.

Here it was. Like she'd never been shot in the head to begin with. Or left inside an old car. Like they'd never been separated at all. Like they'd just stepped out of the funeral home and into his bedroom at the Hilltop. She didn't have to push to bring it back – she just had to remind him. Which is exactly what she'd finally managed to do.

"Remember that – what we were talkin' about? That night?" Beth's voice was tentative, more uncertain than he'd heard it in a long time. He didn't want to, but he couldn't resist meeting her eyes. Searching them and trying to figure out why she was bringing this up now. She looked like she was afraid he'd say no, or brush her off. Normally, he might've.

But once again… how could he forget? How could he live with himself if he pretended not to know exactly what she was talking about?

He grunted in response, jaw clenching reflexively. " _Mm-hmm_." His pulse was speeding up and he wished she'd just roll over and go to sleep. He was too emotionally exhausted to keep reminiscing on all the what ifs, the maybes – all the if onlys that had actively haunted him all these months.

"And…?" She gently prodded, the tone of her voice sending a slight chill through his body.

He shrugged and turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. The way her eyes were boring into his made him feel like she could see right through him. What did she want him to say? He already told her he'd missed her. What more did she really expect? "An' what?"

Daryl heard a soft little half-chuckle come from the back of Beth's throat and it provoked a ball of tension and anxiety to form at the pit of his stomach. If he thought she'd been strong as hell back at Grady, he probably had no idea how much stronger she'd gotten since she almost died. He'd seen it, though. Observed it in her gait, in the way she held her head high. Even in the way she smiled. Somehow brighter now, with more self-assurance. Like she had it all figured out – all that shit she couldn't get around before. Like she'd finally seen what he'd always seen: that she was _strong_. All the shit that used to leave her speechless and staring up at him with wide, blue eyes full of questions. Now _he_ was the one with all the questions. Like, what was going through her head right now?

"An' you looked like you wanted t'say something," her voice came out softer than before, like she was trying to convince a stray animal to come closer. "Before we were… interrupted."

A knot formed in Daryl's throat and he shut his eyes tightly, breath hitching in his chest. _Breathe. Please. Just say it. Tell her._

"Thought you figured it out by that point." There. He'd said _something_ – which was more than he'd wanted to do. And on top of that, it was the truth.

He knew exactly the moment she was referring to. Knew exactly the unspoken words that had been in his head that night. Right before the Walkers showed up and the Grady goons took her from him. He could still remember that little spark of recognition in her eyes, the way her smile had faltered and she'd barely breathed out, _"Oh."_ He could still remember how the candlelight had suddenly felt hot. How he'd felt beads of perspiration forming on the back of his neck. How the food in his mouth had suddenly become bland, and he no longer cared if he ever ate again. He'd wanted to say something else. He'd wanted to _do_ something else. Something _more_.

Just thinking about it now made a heat form in his core and spread outwards, and he was suddenly hyper aware of Beth's presence. He could feel every little shift her body made beneath the blanket, an arm's reach away from him. The longer she was silent, the more idiotic he felt for having replied at all. He felt a light blush rising up his neck to his face, and he was grateful for the darkness of the bedroom, in case she was still looking at him. His own voice was still echoing around him, in his ears, and it felt like his words were hanging over the bed. Had she understood what he meant? Or did he say the wrong thing? What did he just get himself into by letting that slip out? She'd probably want more of an explanation now.

Should've just kept his damn mouth shut. Again. This was one of the many reasons he preferred to answer in grunts and head shakes. And silence.

"Daryl."

His name was carried out of her mouth on a soft, pain-stricken whisper. He immediately opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. She'd rolled over to face him again and he could see her parted lips, her wide pupils, the words teetering on the tip of her tongue. His breath caught in his throat.

"I was lookin' for _you_ ," she breathed out. "I jus' got lucky an' found the others, too. But if you hadn't been here – I wouldn'ta _stopped_ looking."

Her words were like a baseball bat to the gut. Daryl blinked and reminded himself to exhale. His nostrils flared and he resisted the urge to flick his tongue out and wet his lips, even though his whole mouth had gone bone-dry. He wasn't even sure he'd heard her right. Why would she tell him this? What was he supposed to do with this information?

Besides have heart palpitations.

He tried not to sound defensive as he stared back into her eyes and muttered, "I looked fer you, too. Fer days – _weeks_. If I'd known you was alive, that there was any chance, I woulda… I _never_ woulda…"

He couldn't seem to form the last sentence. His mouth grew so uncomfortably dry and the knot in his throat was difficult to talk past. He swallowed hard and licked his lips, unable to tear his eyes away from her penetrating gaze. He expected to see disappointment on her face. Or sadness. Because he'd let her down – he'd let them _both_ down. But he kept waiting and searching. And it wasn't there. All he could see was… sympathy. Gratitude. Deep, unspoken understanding. He could tell that she didn't blame him, or think he was lying. And she accepted him anyway. It was like that day at the moonshine shack all over again.

"I know," Beth said softly. "It's okay."

Then she rolled over beneath the blanket and he kept gazing at the back of her head, unsure of why she'd turned away now. Maybe she _did_ blame him. He would understand if she did. But she didn't go motionless or silent, like he'd expected. Instead, she scooted backwards across the bed, closing the short distance between them, until her back was pressed against his arm. She moved her head back until she was sharing his pillow. And he watched her snuggle in beneath the blanket, getting comfortable again. Invading his personal space.

He had to admit, though… he'd never felt his heart jump so happily at an invasion of personal space. He turned and gazed back up at the ceiling as she went still beside him, listening to her tiny sounds of contentment. They made his chest swell with something he couldn't identify. Feeling her warmth pressed close to him, her back rising and falling with every breath, the soft tickle of her stray hairs on his bare arms. Then he realized what that unidentifiable swell in his chest was: the sudden urge to roll over and wrap his arms around her. To pull her a little closer than she'd ever been. To hold her a little tighter than he'd ever hugged her.

He tried to resist. He tried to push back at the urge and remain laying where he was, muscles rigid and limbs stiff. But he was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and something told him that the desire he had was shared. Why else would she have scooted so close? Why else would she have told him that she was looking for him?

Daryl's body was moving before he'd fully registered what he was doing. He rolled over onto his side until his chest was pressed to Beth's back, the blanket between them, and slipped one arm beneath where her head lay on the pillow and wrapped the other arm around her small, blanketed frame. His hand found her warm, bare shoulder peeking out of the blanket and he placed his palm flat against it, fingers slightly curling over the curve of her shoulder. Then he gave a light squeeze and held her a little tighter, a little closer. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and breathed in the scent of her skin and clothes.

When he stilled and listened to her breathing, he realized she was holding her breath. He froze, wondering if she would shove him away or slip out of his arms and slap him. His own breath hitched in his chest, and he listened closely. He could feel her pulse against his cheek, but her muscles were tensed and her back was stiff with a prolonged inhalation.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he silently begged. _Let me be close to you again._

He was suddenly questioning everything. What if he'd misinterpreted her movements? What if she didn't want him touching her, she just wanted to be a little closer to someone? What if she jumped out of the bed and called him a disgusting creep?

Then he felt her back muscles relax against his chest and she leaned back into him. He listened to the long, contented sigh as she let out the breath she'd been holding. His chest fluttered as he felt her heart pounding away just beneath the soft skin of her neck, strong and steady, and the sounds of her breathing filled his ears. Everything else disappeared.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her smell. And then he gave in to the irresistible urge to graze his lips over the soft skin inches away from his mouth. He planted a light, barely noticeable kiss on the tender part of her throat. To his surprise, he felt her hum lightly in response.

"I _prayed_ that God would help me find you," her soft, sleepy voice filled his ears, her mouth inches away from his ear. "And He did." He could picture the small smile on her mouth without having to open his eyes or lift his head to look.

His heart swelled inside his chest and the lump in his throat grew impossibly large. He inhaled deeply, Beth's smell overwhelming and disorienting him. When he exhaled, it was shuddery and shaken, and a sound escaped from his mouth that he didn't recognize. He wasn't even sure it had come from him. And then there was a warm relief washing through him, building and pooling in his throat and filling his eyes. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, trying to force the feeling back. But he could feel his cheeks and chin becoming wet, sticking to Beth's neck and shoulder.

When had he started crying? He hadn't even realized the sobs were coming from him. The tears had poured out, as if her words had finally broken the dam inside of him. Before he could stop it or try to control it, sobs were wracking his body. He shuddered against her back, arms grasping her tightly, fingers digging into her shoulder. He held her like she was his last anchor to earth, and he was about to drift away forever. The tears leaked from his eyes, no matter how tightly he kept them shut, and his anguished weeping was muffled by the skin of her neck.

"Ohh – no, don't cry," her soft, sympathetic voice reached him through the encompassing sounds of his own sobs and gasping breaths. "Daryl, it's okay – I'm _here_ now. It's okay."

He tried to suck back his tears and form a response, but the only thing that left his mouth was another sob and then he was biting down on his lower lip and pressing his face harder into the crook of her neck. His arms wrapped tighter around her, pulling her in until he could feel her spine digging into his chest through the layers of blanket and clothing between them. He couldn't stop the tears even if he wanted to. Which he kind of did, but at the same time, it felt unbelievably relieving to let them escape. It almost felt like he was draining himself of all the pain and anguish of being without Beth and trying to replace it with her scent, her closeness, every ounce of her that he could soak into himself.

Then she was moving, squirming in his grasp, and he quickly loosened his arms from around her and lifted his head. But before he could open his eyes and blink away the tears, he felt her shifting and rolling over, grabbing his arm and directing him to continue holding her. She stopped once she was rolled over to her other side, facing him, and had slipped her arms free of the blanket to reach them up and wrap them around his neck. She pulled his head down closer and he let her, burying his face into the crook of her neck again while he wrapped both of his arms around her small frame and held her even closer than before. The blanket was pushed down to her waist and their chests were pressed flush together. Daryl's was still heaving with muffled sobs. He tightened his arms around her desperately, one hand gripping her shoulder and the other hand digging into the soft flesh around her ribs. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and he could feel her small, warm hands gripping at his skin, one on his upper back and the other on the back of his upper arm.

"I couldn't save you," he wept into her neck, voice muffled and raspy as he struggled to take steady breaths. Grasped at her skin, clutched her impossibly tighter against him. "It's my fault. 'S all my fault."

Her voice got higher pitched, like she was about to cry right along with him. "No – no, don't say that. You did everythin' you could, Daryl. I'm fine. Everythin's fine. I'm okay. _We're_ okay."

He shook his head and then he felt her hand on the back of his head, tangling in his hair, followed by the sensation of soft lips kissing his ear and then the side of his face. Like she was trying to kiss away his grief and guilt. His arms tightened around her again and another sob wracked his body. He wasn't sure the tears would ever stop leaking from his eyes. Her voice, so soft and pleading in his ear, only made the pain in his chest intensify. There were _so_ _many_ _fucking_ _things_ he'd never been able to tell her.

And now that he had the chance, all he could do was cry. In a way he'd never allowed himself to before. Yet she wasn't making him feel ashamed, or foolish. She just kept holding him, squeezing him, running her fingers through his hair and planting soft, ghostly kisses around the edges of his ear and on the side of his face. Without understanding what was happening or what exactly he was feeling, Daryl felt the tears slowly ebb away. The sobs came fewer and farther between, and then he was able to take deep breaths again.

But he didn't loosen his grip on Beth. And she continued holding him, planting kisses, humming softly. He hadn't been able to hear the humming until he'd caught his breath. And now that he did, it was soothing. Combined with the feathery touch of her lips, it sent a deep chill through his whole body. It all gathered together somewhere in his core to form an old, forgotten ache.

He couldn't explain what happened next even to himself, let alone anyone else. Not that he'd ever dare try. But something in him broke loose and came completely undone when he felt Beth's hands grasping the sides of his face and pulling his head away from the crook of her neck, until their faces were inches apart. He didn't open his eyes and blink away the remaining tears until he felt the warmth of her breath on his lips. And then he met deep, swirling pools of blue surrounding yawning, black pupils. Every muscle in his body was tensing, telling him that he was somewhere he shouldn't be right now. But he no longer had even an ounce of desire to pull away. Or to let her go. He could feel what was about to come, and God help him, but he wanted it to happen. Because he knew, deep down, that this was the only way it _could_ happen.

There was a place at the back of his head where Merle's voice used to hold occupancy. At times like this, it would be yelling at him. Screaming. Berating him. Daryl would be able to think of nothing other than Merle, and how the Dixon boys were a couple of no-good rednecks who had absolutely no business getting anywhere near the likes of a girl like Beth Greene. In fact, there were a lot of voices that would be reminding him how unworthy he was. How he didn't belong here. How she was making a mistake and slumming it with him out of loneliness or desperation.

But those voices were quieted these days. He'd left them behind a long time ago. Burned them down in an all-too-familiar house out in the middle of the woods. So tonight, the only person he had to get over was himself. As was usually the case.

Normally, he'd have trouble. He'd hesitate, pull back, step away. But Beth wasn't giving him the chance. Or the willpower. When he saw her close her eyes and lean in to fill the inch of distance between their faces, he knew that he was silently consenting to having no control over this situation. As soon as he felt her soft lips against his, her mouth crashing into him with hesitance and desire and desperation all at once, he knew it was over. There was no fighting it. This was _exactly_ where he should be. It was exactly where she wanted him. And he'd be damned if he'd ever admit that it was exactly where he wanted to be, too.

The slight hesitance in her movements quickly dissolved, replaced by assuredness. He could feel in the way her hands grasped the sides of his face, and the way her lips searched for his, daring to deepen the kiss, that she'd been far more sure of this than he'd been. But that's why he'd let her. She was the smart, brave, tough one now. He was just the crumbling heap of a broken man lying in her arms.

The tears in his eyes quickly dried and the knot in his throat gradually went away. Daryl focused on her mouth, her impossibly soft lips, the rising heat coming off her entire body. His fingers dug into her skin and gripped her tighter. He clutched her close to him, afraid she might disappear if he let go. He still wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't dreaming. Admittedly, there'd been at least a couple of dreams that had started out similar to this.

He felt like he was melting into her. With every press of his lips against her, every shuddery breath shared between them, their bodies pushed a little closer together. Like they were trying to meld into one shared being. Yet he still felt like she wasn't close enough, like he couldn't feel enough of her body. Enough of the warmth that reminded him she was alive. And that he was, too. Then he felt her tongue tracing his lips and he quickly opened his mouth to welcome her in, joining her with his own tongue and deepening the kiss even farther. The aching building in his core blazed to life and he quickly remembered what it was. Something he hadn't felt, or really cared about, in a long time.

One of her hands slipped from his face to grasp the back of his head, small fingers tangling in his overgrown hair, and he dug his calloused fingers into her skin in response. She took his bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled lightly, pulling outward briefly before crushing her mouth over his again. An inadvertent groan escaped his lips and she swallowed it up like air, kissing him harder. Within seconds, he felt like the combined heat of their bodies was enough to spark an actual fire. But he didn't care because he would've been perfectly fine with that. Burning with her. Perspiration beaded on his neck and he could feel how warm her face was against his. How hot her bare skin was under his fingers.

Daryl broke their kiss and pulled back for only a second. Just because he wanted to look at Beth's face, to see her eyes. But when she opened them and looked back at him, he saw her swollen lips and flushed cheeks. And a painful jolt of residual guilt shot through his chest. And then he didn't recognize his own voice, breathy and laced with desperation and apology as it escaped his mouth.

"I can't – I'm _sorry_. I wanna make it up to you – I'll spend the rest a my _life_ makin' it up to you. I swear."

He saw the tears brimming her eyes, immediately followed by the soft smile forming on her lips. He couldn't hold back, shutting his eyes and pressing his mouth hard against hers again. Before she could answer, or apologize. Or try to tell him that he didn't have anything to make up for. Didn't mean he couldn't try. And he was more than happy to dedicate his pathetic life to something of actual meaning. She kissed him back hungrily, pulling his face closer like he was her first taste of water in a drought. He groaned in his throat and reached a hand up to grasp the back of her head.

Wavy, blonde tendrils entangled his fingers and when he slipped them up far enough, he felt a slight bump beneath his fingertips. The scar from the exit wound – he'd seen it when she'd shown the others. But he'd never _felt_ it. He nearly jolted, quickly slipping his hand back down, but his bottom lip had trembled noticeably against hers. She squeezed the back of his head and hummed softly in response. Then he felt the rest of her body pressing against him, begging for more contact.

She paused their kissing just long enough to whisper against his lips, "'S okay. Everything's okay now." And when she pressed her mouth back to his, he let out the slightest pained whimper. Which only made her kiss him harder.

He swallowed her up. Her lips, her tongue, her taste, her breathy words and her tiny gasps and groans. Everything he could get. But it felt like she was doing something similar. Especially from the way her fingertips were beginning to scrape at the back of his vest, searching for his bare arms and any contact with exposed skin that she could get. It sent chills and goosebumps up and down his entire left side.

Finally, a soft moan escaped her lips as he pulled his mouth away just enough to gasp for air, and that was when he knew it was _really_ over. The aching inside turned to a full-blown tightness. A raging fire. And it traveled straight down to his cock. He didn't realize how much he was strained and pressed against the zipper of his pants until Beth wriggled her hips in a particular way and he was suddenly suppressing a very loud moan.

She broke away briefly and he bit down hard on his bottom lip, swallowing back the sound that wanted to escape. His cock strained harder against the zipper of his pants. But he was too immersed in the welcoming warmth of Beth's body, the soft spots and small fingers, the slight curves and sharp bones. His own body was at the very back of his mind as he focused on kissing her, listening to her quiet gasps and panting breaths. Feeling her very alive, very real body beneath his hands.

"I _missed_ you," she panted out, breath hot on his raw lips. It almost sounded like a whine. Like she'd been holding it in all this time, even though it had been the first thing she'd said when they reunited. She sounded different like this. More genuine, if that was possible.

He pressed another kiss to her lips, then whispered against them, "I know. I missed you, too. More'an y'could ever know."

He could hear her swallow, then she kissed him longer. Harder. She pressed her chest flush against him, and he didn't have to open his eyes or pull back to see what he could feel her doing. Not that he had the strength or willpower to pull back, anyway. The blanket was yanked away from between them, and when she returned her hand to the back of his head, Daryl slid his hand down her back to find that she'd thrown the blanket completely aside.

His heart began rabbiting in his chest. If it had already been racing, now it was fucking _sprinting_. He was almost certain she could feel it against her chest. But he couldn't will himself to pull his hands away, or loosen his grasp on her body. He didn't want to.

Then she paused kissing him again, and her voice was less breath and more plea this time. "Please, Daryl – I _need_ you."

His heart skipped and his cock strained harder. It was so hard, it was aching now. There was a tension built up deep inside him that had been gradually rising for months and months that he could no longer ignore. He pressed his mouth hard against hers in an effort to swallow her words. He couldn't bear to hear her voice like that.

"What d'you want me t'do, Beth?" He panted between frantic kisses, his hands roaming down her back. He was having a difficult time stopping them from slipping any further than her lower back. But he was ready to stop at any time, if she said the word. He was returning her plea with one of his own – a desperate plea for her to tell him what she wanted, what she needed, how he could help. He'd do _anything_. He really hoped she didn't want him to stop, but as long as he got to continue touching her, he'd be fine. Or holding her. _Anything_.

She answered silently. By kissing him harder, shoving her tongue into his mouth and exploring, digging her nails into the back of his scalp. And then by slipping her leg between his and upwards, until she was putting just the right amount of pressure against the huge bulge in his pants with her upper thigh. He was too focused on the deep groan escaping his lips to notice her hands tugging at his vest, urging him to take it off. And she was determined, because as soon as he pulled back from her face, she was yanking and tugging on it with both hands until she was slipping it off his arms and tossing it to the floor. The struggle made her more breathless as she sat up and he joined her. Then she simultaneously moved in to kiss him again and reach down to pull up the hem of his sleeveless Tee.

And though Daryl didn't stop Beth's mouth, he did stop her hands, grunting lightly. She immediately stopped kissing him and pulled back, and he opened his eyes to see her gazing up at him with a quizzical expression. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat and his eyes went wide as he watched her slip off the tank top she'd been wearing, pulling it over her head and tossing it over to join his vest on the floor. Before he could react, she was reaching around and unsnapping her faded blue bra, slipping it off her shoulders and tossing it aside as well. Then she was sitting before him, naked except for the faded pink panties. Pale skin glowing in the mixture of torchlight and moonlight. Tiny, pert breasts bare and exposed just an arm's reach away. His heart nearly stopped in his chest.

His mouth must've dropped open because she blushed, and it spread from her cheeks down to her chest. But then she was smiling and leaning forward to press her mouth to his for a long, deep kiss. Hesitantly, he reached his hands up and placed them on her hips. He was nearly trembling at the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. Her _bare_ skin. Bare _naked_. But she seemed confident enough for the both of them, and she used one hand to guide him and assure him it was okay to explore. So he did. Tentatively, at first, his fingertips grazing across her pale flesh and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He felt her shiver in their kiss a few times, and it sent a jolt of need straight to his already throbbing cock.

Briefly, he wondered to himself if she'd done this before. Probably. Even though he'd always pictured her as somewhat virginal – it wasn't realistic, he knew. Between Jimmy and Zach, and whoever else she may have come across during their time apart. But he quickly realized it didn't matter. Reminded himself that he didn't care. Well, he kind of cared. But not enough. Because he really had no _right_ to care. Especially considering his own sordid past – dozens of women he couldn't name, whose faces all blurred together. It didn't matter _what_ Beth had done before him. Just like it didn't matter what _he'd_ done before her. Because she was here now. With _him_. Where they were both supposed to be. And their pasts were long behind them. Locked up and burned down and put away, as they should be. She moved with confidence now, unashamed of her sexuality, embracing her womanhood with a grace he'd never seen before. She was still as pure as he'd ever imagined her. But not virginal.

The way Beth kissed him. The way her hips rolled up against his body. The way she moaned and panted and writhed at his touch. And the way she moved like she knew exactly what she liked, and how she needed it… Yeah, she'd done this before. But never like _this_. Daryl would make _sure_ of that.

He continued to run his fingers over her skin, trying to memorize every bump and indentation. He'd seen a few new scars on her torso that he was pretty sure hadn't been there before, but now that he was touching her, he couldn't feel them. Her skin was soft and perfect, just like he'd always imagined it would be. Nothing like his. Yet her hands found their way to the hem of his shirt again, and she paused as if to wait for his permission. He kissed her harder and leaned in a little closer, and she pulled his shirt up and over his head. They broke apart just long enough to pull the shirt off and toss it aside, then they were kissing hungrily, her small, soft hands finding the bare skin of his hips and back. He winced when she ran her fingers over the scars, but she just smiled against his mouth and flicked her tongue out to trace it along his bottom lip.

Then her hands were on the back of his neck again, fingers wrapping in his disheveled hair, urging him closer. He kept his hands on the small of her back and guided her back to lying down in the middle of the bed with her head on the pillow while he hovered carefully over her. She was so tiny, he felt like some sort of hideous beast hunching over her. But she didn't stop kissing him, or trying to pull him in closer, and his cock was only getting harder as his hands slid across her bare torso. He wanted to cup her breasts in his hands, feel her nipples between his fingers. But he resisted. He groaned in his throat again, panting against her swollen lips between insatiable kisses, the tip of his erection straining and weeping with precome beneath his pants.

When one of her hands began travelling down his chest and across his stomach, he broke away from her mouth. He paused and opened his eyes just long enough to look down and watch her eyelids flutter open and her pupils yawn as they focused in on him. But before she could protest or make any other noises, he was leaning back in and pressing his lips to the edge of her jaw.

Daryl left a trail of kisses from Beth's jaw, down her neck, to her bare chest. He reached his hands up and hesitantly cupped her breasts in his palms. She shivered in response and squirmed beneath him, and he kissed his way back up to her neck as he massaged her breasts, gently pinching her pebbled nipples between his fingertips. She squirmed again and a moan slipped out, raspy and quiet. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, then up to her pulse point, leaving a damp trail along her perspiring skin. He could smell her and taste her now. She was invading his every sense and intoxicating him.

He felt her pulse thumping hard beneath his lips, like it might burst through her skin. He sucked gently on the spot and pinched her nipples again, and this time, her moan was loud and throaty. She was panting right next to his ear, tiny whines escaping whenever he'd roll her breasts in his hands and squeeze her nipples between his fingers. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to grind his aching erection against her thigh each time she writhed up into him, her thighs inches away from gaining friction. Each time her hips bucked up toward him, he swore he could feel the pulsating heat between her legs, even through his jeans. He groaned against her neck and lightly dug his teeth into her neck, eliciting another whiny moan from her lips.

When he couldn't wait any longer, he trailed his mouth down over her chest and let his hands drift down to the soft skin of her tummy. Then he kissed every inch of her bare breasts he could find, taking each nipple into his mouth and gently sucking for a few seconds. He trailed feather-light touches and kisses across every inch of her that he could find, silently worshipping her naked body. He might've explored her small, perfect breasts with his mouth for hours, but she was rolling her hips up against him desperately. As soon as his head began moving farther south, lips ghosting over the soft peachfuzz on her tummy, he felt her hands on his head and fingers tangling in his hair. He could feel her muscles tensing as she resisted the urge to buck her pelvis up into him. He couldn't stand to make her wait any longer.

With his face hovering inches above her panties, fingertips slipped beneath the waistband, he paused between her thighs and looked up to meet her gaze. "This what you want?" He asked, voice husky with desire and barely louder than a whisper.

He held his breath as he waited for her reaction, watching her carefully. He wouldn't like it, but he'd stop if she said so. He wasn't even entirely sure what he was doing here, or how he'd gotten this far. A woman of this capacity had no business letting a guy like him between her legs. Then again, Beth had a way of looking at him in a way that nobody else was capable of seeing him. And sometimes, he thought they might be equals, in some weird sense of the word.

Then he saw her bite down on her bottom lip and nod. " _Please_." And her fingers dug lightly into his scalp.

He groaned in his throat, cock throbbing with need at the desperate plea in her voice and the sight of her before him. He was on his knees between her legs, and once he'd tentatively slipped her panties down and off her feet, he found himself leaning down between her thighs in the perfect position for worship. Which felt strikingly appropriate, because she looked like some sort of heaven-sent goddess lying on his bed. Despite his larger size, he was gazing up at her from between her thighs, and with one small movement, his face was inches away from the intense, radiating heat of her cunt. Her scent filled his nostrils and gave him an entirely unfamiliar, euphoric sensation. Like it was something he hadn't realized he'd been missing out on.

Daryl grasped the backs of Beth's thighs and spread her legs a little farther apart, then leaned in and placed his tongue flat against the hood of her clit. He felt the shudder that ran through her body, making her tremble in his hands, and his cock twitched beneath his pants. The heat from her pussy was washing over him, making him feel high, and he could feel that she was already glistening with arousal. A groan formed in his throat but he swallowed it back and began circling his tongue around her clit, teasing the tiny nub and intermittently wrapping his lips around it to suck lightly. She moaned and he repeated the motion, creating a pattern of licking, circling, sucking, and then sliding his tongue through her labia, exploring her wet cunt inch-by-inch.

He let her guide him to what she liked by gauging the way her muscles tensed, or how her thighs shook, or how loudly she moaned. He felt a surge of pride each time her juices would dribble out, quickly lapping them up and repeating the motion that had caused it. He swallowed every bit of her he could get, then went back for more. He'd never, in his whole life, enjoyed pleasuring a woman. Now, he couldn't have cared less if he sat here all night with an aching dick. As long as he could watch Beth squirm and hear the sounds she made.

Her moans filled the room and echoed off the walls. But he didn't really give a shit if anyone heard them. The door was locked and, most nights, he couldn't even hear baby Hershel or baby Gracie crying down the hall. Either way, a reaction from the others was the last thing on his mind. He wouldn't have minded if Beth wanted to moan all night, until her throat was raspy and her voice was cracked. Every jolt of pleasure that it sent straight down to his cock was worth it. Just hearing the way she panted, feeling her thighs shaking in his hands and her pussy quivering against his mouth, was enough to make him nearly come in his pants, completely untouched. A fresh wave of arousal washed through him and he lapped his tongue out harder against her swollen, pulsing clit before sucking it between his lips.

"Ahh, _Daryl_ ," she moaned out. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest and his cock twitched, straining harder against the zipper of his pants. He tried not to squeeze her thighs too tightly, but _fuck_ , he liked the way his name sounded when she said it like _that_.

Her juices were sticking to his chin hair and he brought his face back to roughly swipe the back of his hand across his chin. He heard her let out a little whine of protest at the sudden lack of his mouth on her clit, so he quickly replaced it. And then followed it by tracing his fingertip around the edge of her dripping wet entrance, continuing to tease her clit with his tongue. She moaned loudly and rolled her hips up into him, shoving her cunt into his face, and he squeezed her thigh.

Daryl opened his eyes and glanced up to see Beth's head thrown back, hands twisted in the sheets beneath her. _His_ sheets. The sheets he literally never slept on. But that he might be reconsidering sleeping on now. Her chest was heaving with labored breaths, nipples peaking, skin glowing in the dim light. His cock twitched again and he felt the precome pooling in his pants. He tried to take a mental photograph as his tongue continued to work, eliciting those delicious sounds from her mouth. This was an image he wanted to have in his head _forever_. If camera phones were still a thing, this would definitely be a moment he'd want to record for future personal use.

Once his finger was slick with her juices, he tentatively slid the tip inside her entrance. She moaned loudly in response and he pushed his finger in up to the first knuckle, gauging her reaction. Her hips bucked up and he sucked harder on her clit in response, then circled his tongue around it while he curled his finger inside her, relishing the way her tight, sensitive walls clenched around it. He could feel her arousal peaking, her juices leaking out and dribbling down his finger onto his hand. He slid his finger in farther, up to his second knuckle, and she writhed against him, her moans rolling out of her mouth in stuttered gasps.

Daryl resisted the urge to reach down and touch himself, or unzip his pants to relieve his throbbing, aching cock. But only because his hands were too busy gripping Beth's thigh and slipping his digit inside of her dripping pussy. He continued curling his finger, exploring and finding the spot that made the most guttural sound escape from her throat. As soon as he found it, a shudder ran through her whole body. He glanced up and saw the sweat glistening on her skin, chest heaving upwards as she groaned and panted breathlessly.

He continued his motions, silently begging her to continue writhing the way she was. Just because he fucking loved watching her. He thought he might be able to get off just by watching _her_ get off.

" _Ungh_ – more," Beth's voice was high-pitched and whiny with desperation, her hips rolling up and pushing her wet cunt into his face. By the way she was writhing, he could guess that she was incapable of forming any other words.

Daryl smirked against her clit and gave it another light suck, then slipped his middle finger in to join his index finger inside her pulsing walls. He felt them contract around him and accommodate the new digit, and there was another dribble of wet warmth down onto his hand. He curled both fingers inside her and found the spot that made her squirm until he had to grip her thigh and hold her still. Her moans grew more high-pitched, so he sped up the rhythm of his fingers just the slightest and reveled in the relentless sounds coming from her mouth. When her entire body tensed up and froze, he kept up his motions.

And then she was gushing around his fingers, walls tensing and releasing and pulsating. " _Ohh_ – my _god_ ," she moaned out helplessly, fingers clenching the sheets and head thrown back against the pillow. Her entire body trembled, thighs shaking for several seconds, before she relaxed and went nearly limp.

Daryl paused when he felt her relaxing, but then he traced his tongue around her clit again and felt her thigh shake. His cock twitched in his pants, the head drenched with precome after witnessing Beth's orgasm. There would be a stain for sure, but he couldn't care any less. He carefully slipped his fingers from inside her, then trailed his tongue down through her swollen labia to lick up the juices, satiating an inexplicable desire to taste her every chance he got. She moaned again, softer and more spent, legs trembling in response.

He pulled his head back, sitting up on his knees. His fingers and hand were wet with her come, and when he looked down, he found her gazing up at him with licentious eyes. Her face was flushed, pupils wide and black, and she was still panting lightly, trying to catch her breath. He could see the post-orgasm haze on her face, and it only made him want to give her another one. When she looked like this, he didn't even notice the scars on her face. And each time her body silently begged him for relief, he let go of just a tiny bit of guilt. After all, when he said he'd make it up to her, he'd _meant_ it.

It didn't take her long to see the question in his eyes, and then Beth was reaching out and unbuckling his pants. Daryl remained on his knees between her legs, watching her small hands tear open his belt buckle and yank down the zipper. He didn't know why, but he felt like it would be better if she undressed him. Something about taking his pants off in front of her made him feel like a pervert. But when she was ripping them off, yanking his pants and boxers down his thighs, and gazing up at him expectantly – and hungrily – he didn't feel perverted at all. Even though he was still unsure of why a girl like her would want a guy like him inside her. He wouldn't question it. She knew what she wanted. That much was clear.

Her eyes widened a little when his stiff cock popped free, protruding thick and long, but before he could react, she wrapped a hand around it tentatively and stroked. Daryl's eyes snapped shut and he bit down hard on his lower lip. His cock was throbbing and aching so intensely that he thought he might come if she stroked him a few more times. As much as he didn't want to, he reached down and grabbed her wrist, breath hitched in his throat. She stopped her movement and he looked down to meet her curious gaze.

An expression of recognition crossed Beth's face and she smiled up at him coyly, making his cock twitch in her hand. She quickly released it and laid her head back on the pillow, then pressed her heels into the backs of Daryl's thighs and urged him closer. He kicked his pants and boxers the rest of the way off and quickly scooted in to position himself at the entrance of her soaking cunt – he thought she might've been even wetter now than when he was fingering her. He used one hand to prop himself up over her, reaching the hand that was still wet with her come down to grab his cock. He shivered as the wetness slid over his head and down the shaft, and once it was glistening with a mixture of her come and his precome, he slipped the head inside her pulsing cunt.

Beth moaned out and immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. "Yes – _please_." Her voice was breathy and whiny with desperation again, and he quickly leaned down to press his mouth over hers.

But he didn't hesitate. As soon as he felt how wet she was, how tightly the walls of her pussy were pulsating around the head of his achingly hard cock, Daryl plunged every last inch inside of her. His hips bucked in an animalistic movement, and Beth gasped out into Daryl's mouth. He swallowed the sound and kissed her harder, slipping partially out before lunging back in with a deep and hearty thrust. He repeated the motion, stretching her walls and groaning from his throat. But whatever sounds he was making were masked by her heaving pants, the squeals escaping her mouth every time he thrust into her pulsing cunt.

He knew he wouldn't last long, but that didn't stop him from enjoying it. He plunged as deeply into her warm, wet pussy as he could get, until he felt his balls slapping against her ass and her hip bones digging into his stomach. He broke their kiss and slipped his mouth down to her neck, placing his lips over her pulse point. He sucked lightly and listened to her moaning and gasping in his ear.

"Oh, _god_ , oh – _Daryl_ ," she squeaked, voice cracking as he felt his cock bottoming out inside her. He let out a grunt and inhaled a sharp breath, something that resembled a ball of fire forming deep in his belly. He could feel his climax approaching, like he was on a rollercoaster and watching the top inching closer and closer with every thrust of his cock into Beth's dripping wet pussy.

But her walls were constricting around his engorged cock, and she was so wet that he could hear himself sliding in and out of her with every buck of his hips. Her breathing became purely panting, and then desperate gasps, like she was having trouble getting air. Her pulse was pounding against his lips, and he kissed down on it, flicking his tongue out to taste the salty sweat on her skin.

Then her whole body froze and he could hear her breath getting caught in her throat. Her pussy clamped down around his entire cock, and a shudder ran through his body. He knew it was coming, but so was his, and he wanted to _hear_ hers. _Really_ hear hers. He wanted to hear the way that deep exhale left her mouth as her cunt gushed around his throbbing, pulsing dick.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he silently begged. _Let it out. Let it all out on me._

Then a wave of hot air washed over the side of his face and his shoulder, and he heard the breath leaving her lungs. Felt her pulse jackrabbiting under his lips, immediately followed by a high-pitched moan. Her chest stuttered, her mouth reflexively formed an _o_ , and he lifted his head just to watch the ecstasy wash over her face. Her whole body relaxed beneath him and as soon as her eyelids fluttered open, Daryl kissed her hungrily. She kissed back, moaning into his mouth, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and her legs even tighter around his waist.

He plunged into her again, the walls of her pussy soft and sensitive and pulsing with post-climax aftershocks. He could feel her body tremble each time he thrust into her, and it only made him speed up his pace, unable to resist eliciting her inadvertent reaction. He rolled his hips into her every few thrusts, grinding against her swollen clit, and she bit down on his lower lip, panting into his mouth. Daryl smiled against her lips and reached a hand up to cup the side of her face and kiss her even harder, shoving his cock deeper inside her until she was gasping for breath against his lips.

He'd barely built up his pace again when he felt the heat intensifying somewhere deep in his gut, and his cock twitched reflexively inside her cunt. She moaned out and he broke away from her lips, hovering mere inches away from her face as his breath hitched in his chest.

Daryl thrust into her tight, sensitive pussy one last time, and as her breathy moan filled his ears, the tension inside his body peaked and his orgasm washed over him. He grunted and her name rolled of his tongue on the tail-end of a long, throaty exhale, " _Beth_."

His cock throbbed and pulsed, twitching inside her until he was exploding with such force that he saw stars in his eyelids. He grunted out loudly and spilled inside her, and the sensation made him feel like his very soul was pouring out of him. His weeping cock inside her, emptying itself and filling her. He felt her walls contracting around him again, swallowing him up and welcoming in every last drop of his hot come.

Daryl shuddered and jolted with the aftershock, taking shaky breaths and lifting his heavy eyelids to gaze down at Beth through the foggy haze that now hung between them. Their shared, post-orgasm euphoria. At first, he was afraid he'd fucked up by not pulling out, but when he looked down at her with uncertainty, she returned his gaze with a smile and then she pressed her lips to his and kissed him deeply, entangling her fingers in his hair. And if she wasn't worried, then he wasn't gonna be either. He moaned into the kiss and relaxed against her body, gathering the strength to pull himself out of her and stand up.

When he finally did, he found that his legs were shaky, but he got up off the bed and found his balance before stepping over to the dresser to grab a clean towel from the top. He avoided meeting Beth's gaze as they cleaned up and slipped some of their clothes back on, and even though he'd stopped sweating, his face was burning hot. He left his pants off but his boxers on, returning to sit on the bed with Beth, where she was lying down with nothing but her panties on. He grabbed his shirt and moved to put it on, but then she appeared beside him and reached out to take it out of his hand.

"Sleep shirtless with me," she whispered, dropping the shirt to the floor and wrapping her arms around his bare torso. He felt her chin resting on his shoulder and finally turned his head to meet her eyes. Big and blue, glazed over with the same post-orgasm glow that radiated from her milky skin.

He wanted to grunt in response, refuse, pick up his shirt and put it on. But then she smiled and his heart skipped. And before he realized what he was actually doing, he'd turned his body to face her and reached his hand up to gently cup her cheek. And when he pulled her in and kissed her softly on the lips, she leaned into it, a quiet hum of contentment coming from her throat.

He listened closely to her soft exhale. Briefly remembered how he'd listened to what he thought was her last breath so many months ago. When he'd held her close and clutched her in his arms just like this. But it _wasn't_. There was still so much life in her. She still had so much more breathing to do.

Daryl slept under his blanket, on his sheets, in nothing but his underwear for the first time ever that night. With Beth, of course. And though he was still paranoid, and he still couldn't really sleep like other people did – or like Beth did – he felt more at peace than he'd felt in a very long time. And while he was awake, he found himself unable to close his eyes because he wanted to watch the rise and fall of Beth's chest all night long.

For the first time ever, he was watching Beth _breathing_. Beside him. In his bed. And they were _safe_. And she was _alive_. And so was he. And not a goddamned person or thing could take that away from him ever again.

 _Breathe. Please,_ he silently urged. And he'd watch her chest rise and fall. Her eyelids flutter.

And then he'd have to remind _himself_ to breathe.

He knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd watch her, just to make sure she was still there. Still inhaling. Still exhaling. The prison had been the first time. He'd thought Grady had been the last. But it wasn't. And he'd always be paranoid. That would never change. He'd always be terrified of losing her again.

But Daryl was pretty sure, as long as he could hear her breathing, and let it lull him into peace… As long as he could hear the breath leaving her lungs, knowing there'd be another to follow… Maybe he could finally get some sleep. With his arms wrapped around her and his own breath hot on her neck.

They could breathe together. Over and over and over again.

 **the end.**

* * *

 **A/N:** I decided to take a little breather from "Most Wanted" this week and participate in Bethyl Smut Week 2k18. I got inspiration for the day 1: "Breathe" prompt and immediately began writing it.  
And then guess what happened? THIS HAPPENED. This is what happens when I try to write a one-shot. I DON'T KNOW WHY I AM THE WAY THAT I AM. But here you go. It's a monster, with lots of angst and feels. But I hope the smut was worth the incredibly long read. (I get to a very deep, very dark place when I think about Beth's death, and what is expressed in this fic is only like, half of what I could've gotten into!)  
I don't even know if this is any good. It just kind of happened. So let me know what you think!  
I'll also be posting a one-shot for the day 4 prompt "Smoke." And possibly the day 7 prompt "Bittersweet."  
(Make sure you check out all the other fics posted for BSW2k18! We have some amazing writers in our fandom!)


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